Is Kingpin Saitama Sensei?
No.
Then he truly has only one punch left.
"Use card."
Mike used Roronoa Zoro. Momochi Zabuza's taijutsu was also very powerful, but in a direct confrontation, Zoro was better.
Consumed by uncontrollable rage, Kingpin pulled his fist back to his ribs, twisted his body, and transferred power from his feet to his shoulders, then to his fist.
Punch!
His movement was unremarkable, as standard as a boxing novice who had just learned. The punch was silent, its speed seemingly unhurried, and its momentum could not be compared to the previous jabs that had carried a fierce wind.
This punch went straight for Mike's face.
Mike also looked unhurried, extending his right palm to grasp Kingpin's fist.
No, that description isn't quite right.
Mike's fingers were delicate, and his palm wasn't large, clearly unable to encompass Kingpin's massive, sandbag-sized fist. "Grasped" is inappropriate; it was more like Mike spread his palm and slapped Kingpin's fist head-on.
Fist and palm collided.
Suddenly, a violent gust of wind erupted.
The wind swept Mike's hair from his forehead, and his eyes gleamed brightly.
A Gangli Luo!
Mike's left arm muscles bulged.
Punch...
No-Sword Style: Uppercut!
With a gentle pull from his right palm, Kingpin's balance was slightly disrupted, creating an opening... His left uppercut landed squarely on Kingpin's abdomen.
It was the same spot Mike had hit before.
Only...
If the previous punch was like a baseball bat swung high and brought down, this punch was like a heavy truck crashing into a wall.
Don't ask about the heavy truck, look at the wall.
Kingpin was a wall, and a thick, heavy one at that. But what hit the wall wasn't an ordinary heavy truck, it was a special steel heavy truck, just so you know.
Boom!
The moment the punch struck Kingpin's abdomen, a dull thud echoed. His body, weighing over four hundred pounds, floated two meters into the air, hung there for a moment, then crashed heavily to the ground.
At this moment, Mike's swept-up hair floated back down.
Wow!
Kingpin spat out a large mouthful of black blood; his liver had ruptured (look closely, it's not his anus!). He was seriously injured, but not fatally.
"I won," Mike lit a cigarette, looking down and exhaling smoke rings.
"I won't... I can't..." Kingpin struggled, trying to get up.
Mike just watched.
A few seconds later, Kingpin, who had barely managed to prop himself up on his arms, crashed back down.
"I won."
"Where's Bullseye?"
Mike quietly waited for Kingpin to answer.
Did Kingpin value Bullseye?
Probably.
After all, he was quite useful; he did what he was paid for, and he did it well. There's no reason not to value a useful tool.
The question is, how much did he value him?
A tool is just a tool, after all. Use it if it's useful, discard it if it's not. No one would be willing to lose their life for a mere tool, right?
It could be said that from the beginning, Kingpin wasn't fighting this battle for Bullseye, but for the so-called prestige of a criminal overlord, and incidentally, to acquire a new tool that seemed quite useful.
At this very moment, if Bullseye were right in front of him, and if he could get up, Kingpin would absolutely tear Bullseye apart.
Kingpin was silent, his face fluctuating between dark and light.
"You just want Bullseye's location? Is it that simple?"
"Yes."
Mike lit another cigarette and placed it in Kingpin's hand. "Your criminal empire is worthless in my eyes. This World is far vaster than you or I understand. As long as you don't provoke me, you go your way, and I'll go mine."
Go on, continue your love-hate relationship with Daredevil.
"Your greatest strength isn't this muscle-bound physique; I'm very clear about that. What you're best at is mobilizing everyone—the underworld, the Police, politicians, the media, ordinary people—to destroy your life, your work, threaten your family, friends, neighbors, colleagues, blow up your home, your car, inciting the entire World to be against you, leaving you with no place to stand..."
"I have to admit, it's very effective, especially against superheroes bound by moral shackles. I have family, I have friends... This is my weakness, and I can't protect them every single moment. Once something happens to them, I'll feel guilt, pain, and self-blame, but I won't wallow in despair. I will find every single enemy and involved party, no matter the cost, and then kill them all. Just like Bullseye shot at me twice near my residence, which is why, even if it means offending a criminal overlord, I must find him."
"Wilson Fisk... Your force, power, and schemes are useless against me. While I may not be able to make you submit, I can easily eliminate your physical body. So, keep your promise, and then stay far away from me and my people."
Stepping out of the warehouse, the driver was surprised to see Mike emerge completely unharmed and impeccably dressed.
Kingpin picked up the cigarette Mike had lit, took a deep drag, smoking the half-burnt cigarette down to a stub, and exhaled thick White smoke. He finally sat up.
After more than half an hour, after dropping Mike back at Hell's Kitchen, the driver returned to the warehouse and saw Kingpin, whose clothes were wrinkled and who had blood on the corner of his mouth. He considered a certain possibility.
The driver quickly lowered his head; as Kingpin's driver, besides loyalty, he had to know when not to listen or watch.
"Let's go."
Kingpin's tone was completely normal.
After getting into the car, Kingpin said coldly, "Where's Big Joe?"
Big Joe was Amick's second-in-command, the one Mike let go.
"At the hotel."
"Hmm. He's done very well in the past two years," Kingpin said indifferently. "Try to make his passing painless."
"Yes, sir." Cold sweat broke out on the driver's forehead.
Mike returned to the supermarket, and Skye complained, "It's dinner time, why did you run off again?"
"Just some business nonsense, sorry, sorry. Next time, don't wait for me, you all eat first."
After dinner, a small punk delivered an envelope with several addresses printed on the paper. These were places Bullseye frequently visited. Mike decided to check them out later.
Hopefully, it's not a decoy or a trap.
Kingpin is a smart businessman; smart people know how to avoid risk, and businessmen prioritize profit.
Time came to midnight.
Mike left through the window, drove his car, and checked each address on the paper one by one.
"He's really cautious, thankfully I wasn't careless either." Mike stood pressed against the wall, avoiding the infrared camera. This was one of Bullseye's residences; the front door and windows were all rigged with tripwire grenade traps.
Bullseye wasn't here; judging by the thickness of the dust, no one had lived there for about three days.
Next up—the Flatiron Building, located in the triangular block where 23rd Street, Broadway, and Fifth Avenue intersect in Manhattan, commonly known as the "Flatiron District." The Flatiron Building was built in the early 20th century, over a hundred years ago, and is a fifteen-story triangular building.
"The Continental Hotel... that hotel specifically for assassins?"
You kill my dog, I kill your whole family... John Wick left a deep impression on Mike.
"No way, no way, this is a bit troublesome now."
The Continental Hotel is like a safe house for assassins, where killing is strictly forbidden. Those who violate the rules not only lose their hotel membership but also face a bounty and pursuit from the organization.
"However, I have a strong premonition that Bullseye is hiding inside." Mike rubbed his chin, smiling very... dangerously.